The Poor Writer's Travel Diary
by 101BlankPages
Summary: "Travel the world with me, Bella." Some search for love. Some search for a story. Some search for a love story.
1. Chapter 1

**The Poor Writer's Travel Diary**

 **Summary:** "Travel the world with me, Bella. Let me show you what it has to offer." Some search for love. Some search for a story. Some search for a love story.

•

 **Chapter 1:**

Fiddling with a plastic hotel card, heavy in my hand, I wonder how on earth I have gotten to this point in my life: 23, single, four novels out, no bestsellers (though I must admit, two of them have acquired quite a cult following), and victim of the writer's block to end all writer's blocks.

I sink back into the plush sofa chair in the middle of the lobby of the _Savelli._ Even in the morning, it's busy with rich business men and women. A quick glance around me at my lavish surroundings makes me hum in contentment.

I can't focus on that, though. I haven't written a word in the past month.

No, that's a lie.

I've written a lot of words, but they've all been deleted, erased, scratched out, or otherwise disposed of. Most of them are on crumpled-up pieces of paper lying around my bed back home, and getting out of bed without a nasty paper-cut is like an early morning game of hopscotch.

And when writing is your career and the only thing that funds your shoe obsession, words can't wait a month to be written.

…which is why I'd decided that a vacation from sunny, peaceful Pasadena was exactly what I needed. I'd considered a lot of places in looking for inspiration - Chicago, Seattle, Austin…

All I'd known was that I needed a big city (my pitiful attempt at getting inspired). I thought that the fast-pace life of the people around me would push me to get my ass into gear and start writing.

When one of my best friends and old college roommates suggested that I come visit her in New York City after New Years, I figured…why not?

Alice had moved out here a year ago to pursue her realtor dreams and was now pretty successful, knocking down 'For Sale' signs for penthouses left and right. She now lives in a penthouse herself, along with her fiancé of two years.

I sigh heavily and glance at my watch which reads 11:47. Alice is late.

Deciding to wait for her at the restaurant, I grab my bag and get up, running straight into someone in my hurry.

New York is already rubbing off on me.

" _Shit,_ " I hiss as I stumble, nearly tumbling to the ground. My bag falls heavily to the ground, my phone slipping out of it and onto the marble floor.

Hands grab my hips and steady me by holding me close to a hard chest. "Are you alright?"

The voice is smooth and low, and has me looking up curiously. Deep green eyes meet my gaze. They're set against defined cheekbones and a sharp jaw, surrounded by a mane of perfectly coiffed dark brown hair. Broad shoulders draped in a crisp suit taper into long arms and large hands which are still burning holes through my jacket and jeans into my skin.

I take a deep breath and step back. "Yes." I hold my voice firm. "I'm sorry about that."

One corner of his lips quirk upwards in a half smile. "No worries." He cocks his head slightly to the right and studies me. His gaze is…burning. It's sort of like staring straight into the sun.

Suddenly he breaks contact with me and reaches down to grab my bag and phone. His fingers linger on my hand as he hands them both over to me and I fight the sudden urge to shiver.

"Thanks." I smile briefly, turning my phone over in my hands.

"It's not broken, is it?"

A glance up at him finds him nodding at my phone. "Oh, no, it's fine. It's nothing this phone hasn't been through before." I chuckle wryly.

His lips pull up in a half-smile and his eyes take me in quickly from top to bottom. "Well take care. I wouldn't want you…or your phone getting hurt."

He steps aside to let me pass.

For a moment I simply stare at him, a little stunned that he would make a statement like that to a stranger. It's pretty obvious to me that he's flirting, but it throws me off guard to hear him do it so casually. I wonder vaguely how arrogant one has to be to do something like that.

His half-smile widens into a smirk when I keep staring at him, and it's just as good-looking as the rest of him.

I shake my head at his blatant arrogance and chuckle before striding past him.

Readjusting my bag on my shoulder, I walk away from him as confidently as possible towards the hotel restaurant at the other end of the lobby. I slow as I near the host's booth, furrowing my brows.

I glance back at where we'd just been standing, but the man is nowhere to be seen. I can't lie, I'm attracted to him. He interests me.

"Bella, over here! On your right! _Bella_!"

Heads turn to look at the woman screaming my name. Wearing a chic trench coat and a wide grin, Alice squeals and envelopes me in a big hug when I walk over to her. I smile into her shoulder and hug her back tightly. She can embarrass the hell out of me, but she's like a sister.

Her eyes are bright when she lets me go. "Let's go get our table and you can tell me all about how you need a writer's block to come and visit your best friend."

•

"Tell me again why you never use your real name for your books." Alice dabs at her lips with her napkin.

"Novels," I correct pretentiously. "And I want them to be successful on their own. I don't want my name to influence how they do."

She rolls her eyes. "You really think that anyone's going to tie you to your mom?"

I grimace. "I'm not taking that chance. I don't care that she's an heiress. I _do_ care that she's an awful parent who ran out on her family at the first chance she got."

"Fair enough." Alice knows better than to push me on that subject. "Another drink before dessert?"

I hesitate. "I shouldn't. It's not even two." I have no idea where this responsibility came from all of a sudden.

She just shushes me and waves a waiter over. "Two more glasses, please." She lightly taps her glass of chardonnay as an indication.

"Certainly ma'am."

I stare at her, walking a thin line between amusement and exasperation.

Her blue eyes widen in innocence and she tucks a lock of pitch black hair behind her ear. "What? Don't act like you don't want it. Besides, we have to celebrate you finally being in New York."

I groan as she picks up her newly-topped glass and motions for me to do the same.

"To your first time in the east coast and a much needed break from the constant stress you put on yourself."

We clink and drink deeply.

Our desserts arrive a minute later and we're both momentarily distracted.

"You do realize that this isn't a vacation for me, right? I mean, I'm doing this to get myself inspired to write. I can't be here just to have fun." I pluck up my dessert spoon.

"Oh calm down, Debbie Downer, it's not all that bad. At least you're doing it, you know? You're really writing. A writer is all you ever wanted to be and, well…here you are."

I hum around a spoon of panna cotta and shrug. "I guess. Something about it doesn't feel right, though, like I've just completely missed the ball."

Alice studies me. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I sigh. "Well, I'm writing, but…I'm not. I'm not writing about anything significant. It's just page after page of what my editor thinks will sell."

"I hate your editor," she groans. "James is such an asshole and he never lets you write what you want. Not to mention, he's kind of a perv."

I snort, not disagreeing. My spoon circles the edges of my cup, making sure to gather the last of the vanilla goodness. "What about you? Last I heard, you were selling houses to the stars."

"Now you know I can't mention any names." Her grin is wicked.

"Oh come on, I'm your best friend!" I laugh.

"Well, let's just say that he isn't an officer, but I have proof that he _is_ a gentleman."

"Stop."

She just smirks.

The waiter comes over with the bill and I quickly pay it before she can protest. We make our way back to the lobby, where Alice pauses and reaches into her bag.

"Now, don't get mad, but…I bought you a late Christmas present."

"Alice…"

"Oh, calm down. It's not even that big." She hands me a beautifully-wrapped rectangular box.

I take it and shoot her a grateful, curious smile. "What is it?" I shake it lightly.

"Telling you what it is would defeat the purpose of wrapping it, wouldn't it?" She rolled her eyes playfully. "Open it back in your room."

I grin and place it carefully in my bag. She grabs me and pulls me into another warm hug.

"I'm really happy that you're here, Bella. I know that you're here to get a job done, but don't forget to have fun." She pulls back to look at me. "Remember that short story you wrote for me when we got drunk right before finals in freshman year?"

I snort. "How could I forget?"

"You edited it the next morning and it was the first story you ever really wrote." She shoots me a meaningful look. "Do you see what I'm saying?"

"I think I do."  
"Good."

"You want me to get drunk and pump out a _New York Times_ bestseller."

"Ha." She grins at me and shakes her head. "You're such a dork."

"Gee, thanks."

"But I love 'ya. Which is why we're going out for drinks tomorrow night. No excuses." She interrupts the protests at the tip of my tongue. "So take it easy today and get prettied up for that."

She waves and before I know it she's strutting off towards the doors.

"Bye." I pause. "Wait - you think I need a day and a half to get pretty?"

She just blows me a kiss and hands the valet her ticket.

•

The room I'd picked was just a standard single, but it feels like a suite. The bed is large and lying down on it makes me feel like I'm sinking into a cloud. The bathroom is luxurious, with a large bath and a shower room - just the way I like it. Not to mention the warm lighting throughout the room makes me want to just lie back with a glass of rosé and a good book.

No time for that though.

I set up my laptop on the desk with a blank word document.

"Let's do this," I mutter, rubbing my hands together as I sit down. I take a deep breath and rest my hands on the keyboard.

 _Inspire me, New York._

Ten minutes later, I sit back and stare woefully at the blinking cursor - the only sign of life on the page. Meanwhile, my phone has been going crazy with beeps and rings from WhatsApp and Facebook (probably from friends back home wanting to know how New York has been so far) on the other side of the desk.

My fingers itch for it.

"Oh, screw it."

I snatch up the phone and after a few minutes of reassuring people that I'm still alive, and pretending to have more fun than I actually am, I set the phone done. My gaze returns to my computer screen and that damn blinking cursor.

A few more minutes of zero progress finds me rummaging through the minibar searching for those little mini bottles of Jack Daniels. I pop the cap and take a large gulp, grimacing slightly.

I've always been more of a wine girl.

I walk back to my desk, with every intention of writing, when something shiny sticking out from my bag lying on the bed catches my eye. Reaching in, I pull out Alice's present. I set my bottle down on the desk and rip off the wrapping paper to reveal a beautiful brown leather journal. On the front cover, engraved in gold lettering are the words: _Bella's Thoughts_.

With a big smile I flip the page, a note falling out. I quickly catch it and notice Alice's neat penmanship.

 _If you can't write, no one can. - XO, Alice._

Oh, Alice.

I take another swig of Jack Daniels as I sit and uncap a hotel pen. I gently bend the spine of the book to break it in and begin to write.

 _Entry 1_

 _Date: January 2nd_

 _Location: New York City_

 _Motivation to Write: Nonexistent_

•

Eight hours, one mini bottle of Jack Daniels, a shower, a room service club sandwich, and one infuriatingly blank word document later, I decide to call time of death on writing for the night. I do this by closing my laptop and flipping the TV on to the TLC channel.

I don't sit down, though.

Sometime in my fifth hour of procrastination, I'd flipped through a hotel book lying on the desk that advertised the bar downstairs and had decided that drinking in public was less sad than drinking alone in my room. If only to people-watch and get inspired, I have to get out of my room.

I get dressed, grab my bag, my new journal, and make my way out of my room before my Jack Daniels buzz wears off.

As I get out of the elevator in the lobby, my phone rings. Glancing at the caller ID, I sigh and answer.

"Hi, Emmett."

 _"Yeah, 'hi'. You couldn't call your own brother to tell him you landed?"_

My boots clack on the marble floor all the way to the bar. "Ah, I don't know what to tell you, Em, I was a little preoccupied. This writer's block is completely screwing with my life."

 _"I think it's the best thing that's ever happened to you."_

"Excuse me?"

 _"You heard me. When have you ever made a spontaneous cross-country trip before? I like this new girl. I think this is good for you."_

I scowl. "Easy for you to say. Have you ever tried to force creativity? It's about as fun as a root canal."

 _"Okay, Debbie Downer."_

"Why is everyone calling me that?" I resist the urge to stomp my feet like a five-year-old as I enter the lounge and make a beeline towards the bar. "Have you been talking to Alice?"

 _"If she's been saying it too, maybe you should listen. Let your hair down, cut loose and all that."_

This conversation needs to end. "Okay, Emmett. I'm getting into an elevator, I'll talk to you later." I end the call before he can protest and plop myself down on a bar stool, hanging my bag on the rod in front of me.

"Welcome to the _Savelli_ bar and lounge, Miss. Can I get you anything?"

I smile widely at the tall, dark-haired bartender. I won't lie - he's good looking."Yes. _Please._ I'll have a martini, dry."

"Right away." He smiles and retreats to make my drink.

I take the opportunity to look around. The lounge is busy, but not overly crowded. Few people sit at the bar like I do, most seeming to prefer the large plush looking couches and tables at the other end of the room.

 _Perfect._

"Here you are, Miss." The bartender places a tall glass in front of me and shoots me a grin.

"Thanks." I smile back. I think it's flirtatious, but it's been so long since I tried, that for all I know he could just think I have a bad twitch.

He leaves to tend to another customer and I reach into my bag and pull out my journal and a pen. I glance around a little at the people sitting at the tables before uncapping my pen.

 _Still waiting for inspiration to strike. New York is beautiful, of course, but I need a story and I don't think I'm going to find it in a hotel bar._

I pause and glance up at my drink. I take a long sip. I grab my pen.

 _…but it's worth a shot._

I cap my pen and unceremoniously plop both it and my journal down on the bar, swapping them for my drink and my phone.

•

The last of my drink trickles down my throat. I wiggle around in my seat a little, acknowledging the nice buzz that I have going. I look around for the bartender, but he's nowhere to be seen. In his place is a young woman, but she seems to be focused on two guys sitting at the opposite end of the bar.

I drum my fingers on the bar a little impatiently.

A man suddenly moves into my view behind the bar. He reaches for a bottle and a couple of glasses.

"Oh, hey - hi! Sorry, could I get another martini please?" I wave my hand to get his attention.

He turns and slightly startled, unforgettable emerald green eyes meet mine.

I drop my hand. "You."

His brows furrow slightly and the same crooked smile from this morning returns to his face. "You."

"Um. Hi."

His smile widens and he takes a few steps towards me. "Hi." His voice is low and silky smooth and I'm a little grateful for the bar in between us.

Voices like that are responsible for bad decisions. And I don't need any help making bad decisions.

"You're a bartender here?" At his confused look I nod towards the bottle in his hand.

His eyes follow my gaze and he seems to understand. "Oh, that's not-," He pauses and glances up at me. I raise my brows expectantly. "I mean, yeah. Yes. I'm a bartender."

"Okay," I say slowly. He doesn't move, he just stares at me with that half smile. I wonder vaguely what he's doing as a bartender; with a face and body like that, he could model. "Well, were you taking those to someone?" I gesture to the bottle and glasses in his hands.

"They can wait." He sets them down on the counter behind him and turns to me with a grin. "Did you say you wanted a martini?"

I nod dumbly as he grabs my glass and sets about making me my drink. He never wanders too far away from me and my eyes follow his precise movements. He's shed the suit jacket from this morning. He has on a charcoal grey button-up, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong-looking forearms. His perfect hair is now slightly windblown, but I personally think it looks better this way.

"There you are." He places my drink in front of me with a grin, and rests his hands on the bar. "On the house."  
I look up startled. "You don't have to do that."

"I want to."

Under his slightly intimidating gaze, I cave. "Okay. Thanks." I take a sip, enjoying the smooth feel.

"How do you like your drink, Bella?"

I nearly choke on my drink. I cough, trying to clear my throat, and he waits patiently with an amused smile on his face. "How do you know my name?"

He points to my journal next to me. "'Bella's Thoughts'," he reads aloud. "That's your journal, right? I just assumed."

"Oh, yeah." I clear my throat. "And my drink's great, thanks."

He chuckles. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"  
He doesn't seemed troubled by the thought in the least.

"A little bit, yeah." I decide to go for blunt. I glance up at his stunning eyes and flawless smile and determine that his ego wouldn't bruise if I hit it repeatedly with a blunt axe.

"Why's that? You're the one who ran in to me this morning, and you're the one who asked me for a drink right now."

Casanova's got a point.

I set my drink down and look up at him, my confidence returning a little now that the initial shock of seeing him again has worn off. "To be fair, neither was on purpose."

"That's a shame." He smirks at my silence and sticks a hand out. "I'm Edward."

I place my hand in his and am slightly surprised to feel calluses poke into my skin. How many New York City bartenders have hands that reflect years of manual labor?

I am thankful that he doesn't try that cliché kiss on the back of the hand, though. A quick glance at his soft-looking lips makes me reconsider.

"Bella Swan."

"What are you doing here in New York, Bella?" He folds his arms on to the bar counter and leans in on his elbows. He doesn't seem to care that the bar is getting a bit more crowded and people could use his help.

"Visiting a friend." I take another sip of my martini and his eyes follow my lips. I shoot him a knowing look when his gaze returns to my eyes.

His responding grin is unapologetic. "And what do you do?"

"I write."

"You're a writer?" He leans forward in seemingly genuine interest. His eyes flicker to my journal.

I smile wryly. "I'm trying to be."

"So you're not published yet."

"I have four novels out." His brows furrow in confusion. I bite my lip and fiddle with the stem of my glass, reluctant to go into this with anyone, let alone a stranger. "I don't like what I'm writing, so I don't count them."

He frowns. "Why are you writing things that you don't like?"

I meet his gaze. "I wish I knew."

He studies my face carefully and leans forward. "Is that why you're in New York - to figure it out?"

"I guess so. I'm a little lost." I laugh humorlessly.

He smiles and reaches out to push a lock of hair behind my ear. His touch is gentle and it doesn't even feel like a come-on. It's hesitant but purposeful, like one stranger comforting another.

I think I stop breathing.

"Being lost isn't such a bad place to be." He tells me softly. "Don't pity yourself so much. Pity the poor bastards that have their lives figured out; they have nowhere to go."

My brows furrow and for some reason, what he says makes sense to me. I feel like I'm in a trance as he leans in even further, his hand still on my cheek. His breath washes over me, minty and cool. My heart should be beating a mile a minute, but it's surprisingly calm. Throwing caution to the wind, I lean in.

"Edward, where are our drinks? We've been waiting for ages; Seth's chewing on ice." A feminine voice shoves me out of my trance.

I immediately pull away and his hand falls from my face. The smooth jazz from speakers in the bar floods my ears again and I remember where I am.

"Sorry, Jess, I got distracted." I hear Edward say.

I glance to my right to see a beautiful brunette leaning on the bar. She's taller than me, with olive skin and stunning hazel eyes. She looks over at me when Edward gestures in my direction.

She smiles tightly, but not unkindly. "Sorry to interrupt."

"Um, no. Not at all." I grab my bag and shove my journal into it. "I actually have to get going."

"Bella, wait-"

"Have a nice evening."

I hop off my barstool and walk as fast as my boots and tipsy ass will allow me. As soon as I'm out of the lounge, I nearly sprint over to the elevators and jam the call button repeatedly.

"Bella, hang on a second!"

I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose before turning around to see Edward jog over towards me. He slows down and stares at me with a slightly confused expression.

"Why did you run out of there?"

I frown. "Why should I have stayed?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Because we were talking?"

"Oh, is that what we were doing?" I sigh when he crosses his arms and narrows his eyes at me. "Look, I'm not really myself right now. Like I said, I'm lost and I'm in a city that I've only seen in movies…not to mention, I've been drinking since one in the afternoon."

He chuckles a little at that.

I plow on. "You need to know that I don't usually kiss people on the same day that I meet them. I really need to focus right now and I don't think you're good for that. So thank you for the drink and for the advice, but I think we should just say goodbye."

In perfect timing, the elevator behind me dings to announce its arrival.

While I was speaking, Edward had shoved his hands in his pockets and had begun studying me with an amused smile. At the end of my rant, he takes a few slow, calculated steps towards me.

He fixes me with the same penetrating gaze that gave me chills this morning. "You really are something, aren'tya." He chuckles and shakes his head. He gives me one last once over.

Then he turns on his heel and walks off.

•

 **A/N: Canon, HEA, and no cheating. This story will be updated weekly until it reaches the end of Part 1; after a small break, the chapters of Part 2 will be updated similarly.**

 **Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

 _Entry 2_

 _Date: January 3rd_

 _Location: New York City_

 _Motivation to Write:...no. Just no._

•

Balancing a bagel and latte in one hand, I slip my keycard into the door and let myself in. I set the bagel down on the desk but I'm in no hurry to put down the boiling latte which warms my freezing fingers.

I shed my jacket carefully so as to not spill my drink and plop myself down on the couch next to the window. Sipping slowly at the warm liquid, I sigh.

I've always known New York is cold, but it hadn't really hit me until I trekked about a block for my morning coffee. The air outside is frigid and a cloud of steam follows you around when you so much as breathe.

California has spoiled me.

A quick glance around the room tells me that I have to get my shit together. My clothes from last night are carelessly strewn across the back of my desk chair, my bed is unmade, and my laptop lies forgotten in the corner of my desk.

Thoughts of Edward have been gnawing at me all morning.

Never in my life have I been overly promiscuous, but I have always been able to hold my own with men. I know how to be confident in most situations and very little surprises me when it comes to the opposite gender.

Something about this one man surprises the hell out of me.

"Fuck me," I whisper into the silence of the room.

This trip is about staying focused and getting shit done. Leave it to me to mess that up on the very first day.

Deciding to drown my troubles in carbs, shameless spending, and sightseeing, I grab my bagel and call up the concierge.

•

"Okay Alice, I just sent you a picture of the boots I bought. Do you think I should keep them? In the store, I thought they were great, but I put them on five minutes ago and now I'm thinking they might make ankles look too scrawny." I study the beige bootees from every angle in front of the mirror. "Remember they can go back tomorrow."

 _"I think they're hot."_

"Good. Today hasn't been a total waste then." I sigh and sit down on my newly-made bed.

 _"What else did you do today?"_

"Well, I called the concierge and planned for Grand Central Station, Fifth Avenue, Battery Park, and Rockefeller Center."

 _"Wow, busy day for you."_

I cringe. "Not really. I kind of got stuck on Fifth Avenue."

 _"At least you got out."_ Alice's voice is pitying. _"To be totally honest, I kind of expected you to shut yourself in your room the whole day."_

"That was last night's plan." I decide not to tell her about spontaneous hotel bar trips and dangerously good-looking bartenders.

 _"That better not be tonight's plan_ _–_ _hold on…"_ Her voice gets muffled and I assume she's covering the receiver. _"…no, I'm still waiting for the paperwork to get here…well, did you tell him it was urgent?"_

I lay back on the bed and lift my legs up to study my new boots.

Sometimes I really envy Alice's determination and her work ethic. It is wholly responsible for her success. What is really depressing, however, is that I used to have that determination and work ethic too. It had gotten me into Berkeley and had kept me at the top of my class there.

Now I'm just a boot-obsessed, directionless would-be writer.

 _"Hey, sorry, I'm back. It's crazy today, I might even have to come to work tomorrow."_ She groans. _"Working on a Saturday…wonderful."_

"Are you sure you still want to go out tonight?"

 _"Don't even try to back out, we're going. It's just drinks anyway. Speaking of which, do you mind if we have drinks at your hotel bar? Jasper has a work dinner nearby so he'll be able to pick me up afterwards."_

My mind immediately shifts to emerald eyes and a voice like velvet. My hand flies to the spot on my cheek where Edward's fingers had lingered last night.

 _"…hello? Bella, you still there?"_

"Yeah, I'm here." I hesitate, wondering if I want to risk seeing him again. "The hotel bar's fine."

She's silent for a few seconds. _"You know we don't have to go there if you don't want to."_

"No, no, I want to. You know I can't hold my drink. The closer I am to a bed, the better."

She snorts and agrees to meet me at ten.

•

"This place is great. The _Savelli_ is one nice hotel." Alice looks around approvingly at the dim lighting, smooth music, and comfortable couches.

The lounge is significantly more crowded than it was last night. Friday night has brought out people from all walks of life, eager to ring in the weekend. Alice and I had found ourselves a corner of the room where we could talk.

As I'm ordering my second martini, I'm reminded of Edward making me one last night. Before I can stop myself, I find myself looking around to see if I can spot that familiar mane of brown hair.

"Are you okay?"

I jump slightly in my seat as I turn to see Alice observing me carefully. "I'm fine. Why?"

"You just seem sort of off. You sure you're okay?"

"Yes _._ I'm fine. I'm great." I take a hasty sip of my drink.

"…'cause you seem a little jumpy."

" _You're_ jumpy."

I'm not very smooth under pressure.

"Okay." Alice says slowly, but drops it. "How's the writing going? Inspired yet?"

I grimace. "Not really. I still have time though, right? I mean it's only been a day. Besides, if I had it all figured out, I wouldn't be here."

Alice's eyes widen. "Wow. That sounded enlightened. Where's this optimism coming from?"

 _An almost word-for-word quote from a sexy bartender I met last night._

I laugh uncomfortably. "New York, I guess. Thanks for the journal by the way. It helps to get my thoughts down."

"Do you like it?" Her eyes light up.

"Are you kidding? I love it!"

She grins.

A buzzing against my hip distracts me. "Shit, sorry." I reach into my bag and pull out my phone. I freeze when I see the caller ID.

 _Renée._

"What? What's wrong?" I hear Alice ask. Wordlessly, I show her the screen. "What the hell is your mom doing calling you?"

"I don't know. Should I answer?" I bite my lip anxiously.

Alice looks like a deer in headlights and she's hesitant in her answer. "I don't know, Bella. She hasn't talked to you in two years…has she?"

I shake my head. "I think she sent me a Christmas card last year."

I set my phone down on the table and we both stare at it as it buzzes. Eventually the buzzing stops and the call goes to voicemail. We look up at each other.

"That was weird." Alice finally says.

I'm just about to agree with her when a waitress stops off and places another martini in front of me. "Oh, did I order another one?" I ask her. Maybe I'm a bit more drunk than I'd thought.

She smiles. "No, this was sent over."

My brows shoot up and Alice whistles lowly. "Nice, Bella."

"I'm sorry – _who_ sent this over?" I ask the waitress before she leaves.

"That man over there." She points in the direction of the bar.

Twisting around in my chair, I scan the area she points at and I do a double-take when I notice Edward standing behind the bar in plain sight. He smirks at me as he leans on his elbows. My jaw drops when he winks.

"Bella!" My mouth snaps shut and I spin around to see Alice staring at me with a raised brow.

"Wanna clue me in on what's happening?"

"Not really." I say weakly.

"Isabella Swan, I swear I'm going to smack you."

"Fine." I groan. "I met this guy last night when I came down here for a drink and he's here tonight."

"Who?" Alice demands, nearly getting up on her chair to look over my shoulder at the bar.

"Tall, brown hair, green eyes, wearing a dark blue shirt."

"Got him. Oh, my…those shoulders. He's hot, for sure. You little slut, why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't think I was ever going to see him again."

"Well, you were wrong."

"Thank you, Alice." I bury my face in my hands. "I don't know if I want to see him."

Alice sits back down and stares at me incredulously. "Are you crazy? He looks like a Calvin Klein model."

"I need to focus on my writing, not hot guys," I try to explain. "Besides, I never know what to say around him."

"Well, you better figure it out because he's heading this way."

"What?" I nearly shriek.

I don't even have time to sufficiently freak out because a rich cologne fills the air and I feel his presence before I see him.

"Hi, Bella."

Slowly, I look up and see him standing casually next to me. He rests one hand on the back of my chair and grins down at me.

"Good to see you again. You look beautiful." He makes no attempt at hiding the way his eyes run down my tight skirt and blouse ensemble.

My throat suddenly feels dry. "I didn't know you'd be here tonight."

His smirk says _'sure, you didn't'_. He turns to Alice. "I'm sorry, I don't think we've met. I'm Edward."

"Alice." She smiles sweetly and shakes his extended hand. "Nice to meet you, Edward. I'm sorry, Bella hasn't told me about you."

His eyes wander over to me. "No, I didn't think she would." He moves his hand on the back of my chair slightly so that his thumb can brush against the nape of my neck. I struggle to contain my shiver.

"Don't take it personally. I don't make a habit of telling my friends about random people I meet at bars." I smile coolly at him.

He chuckles and turns back to Alice. "Can I freshen your drink?" He asks, gesturing to her glass.

"Sure, I'd love that." Alice grins. She leans forward to me as he flags down a waiter. "Polite, too? Damn, Bella, I'm impressed."

I shoot her a withering look. The waitress arrives and takes her order.

Edward takes the opportunity to focus back on me. He leans down slightly, his breath brushing over my ear. "'Random', huh?"

I turn to meet his gaze and am startled to find his face a lot closer than I'd expected. "I've only known you for a day. And I told you I can't be distracted; you're a very _bad_ distraction."

He grins. "Well, I disagree. I think I could be _just_ the kind of distraction you need." Before I can respond, he straightens and turns to Alice.

"Would you mind if I joined you ladies for a bit?" He aims a disarming smile Alice's way.

"Of course not." She simpers, shooting me a wicked smirk as Edward steps away to grab a chair from a nearby table.

I grab her arm and pull her closer. "You're letting him sit with us?" I hiss.

"Consider it payback for not telling me about him." I sit back and watch helplessly as Edward settles in next to me and throws an arm around the back of my chair.

"So, Edward, what do you do?" Alice asks.

"I'm…" He pauses and looks over at me. "…a bartender."

"A bartender? Oh, do you work here?"

"Yes, I do. In fact, that's how I met Bella." He grins over at me.

"Speaking of which, aren't you working right now?" I ask him, raising an eyebrow. "I don't think your boss would really approve of you sitting with us."

I'm being a bitch, I know it. But I have to find a way not to let him affect me.

He doesn't seem to mind my attitude, though. He just leans in, his arm brushing against my shoulders.

"No, I don't think my boss would mind at all, actually." He murmurs, tracing my lips with his eyes. He turns abruptly back to Alice. "Tell me more about yourself, Alice."

Alice looks slightly surprised but quickly regains her footing. "I'm a realtor."

"Really? My uncle is into real estate. Any listings I would know of?"

"I'm not sure. I've been working mostly on the Upper East Side lately."

"Wow, impressive. How is that going?"

I watch, slightly stunned, as Edward proceeds to carry on a conversation with Alice almost as if they've been friends their whole lives. He knows just what to say, when to say it, and how…and he does it with an elegance that I could never master.

The martini in my hand makes me slightly dizzy so I sit back and allow Alice and Edward to take the lead in the conversation. Unintentionally, I find my eyes following his movements and gestures as he speaks. He's eloquent, that's for sure. He has Alice laughing and even gets me to crack a smile every now and then.

Though he focuses the conversation on Alice, he keeps his arm around me. His fingers draw circles on my shoulder, sending tingles up my neck and down to my toes. I find myself wondering how a man that I barely know can make me feel this way.

My past relationships haven't been so much disastrous as they have been ordinary. It usually takes me just a few minutes to have the man figured out and the relationship sort of…crumbles from within. I get bored and the things that attracted me to him in the first place don't hold up against the reasons I can list to end it. Self-destruction is sort of my thing.

The smooth jazz flowing through speakers makes me feel like I'm almost in a dream and I have to force myself not to lean in to him. Judging by the charming grin he sends my way, though, he wouldn't mind if I did.

Alice's phone chimes, breaking me out of my alcohol and Edward stupor. "Oh, that's Jasper. He's here." She squints at her screen. "I better get going."

"Allow me to walk you out." Edward stands smoothly, plucking up her jacket and holding it out for her.

"Oh, well aren't you a gentleman." She sends me a pointed grin as she pulls on her jacket and grabs her bag.

"Bella," Edward says with a grin as he holds his hand out to me.

I narrow my eyes at him but place my hand in his and allow him to help me up. Chances are, I would have fallen flat on my ass if I'd tried to get up on my own anyway.

We walk out of the lounge and into the lobby, and I'm highly aware of his hand on my back. I'm also aware of Alice's elbow boring a hole into my side when he doesn't take his hand off me even as we come to a stop.

"Bella, so good to see you!" I look to my right to see a tall, familiar frame heading towards us. Jasper shakes his shaggy blonde hair out of his eyes and grins at me, enveloping me in a large hug when he gets close. "How've you been?"

"Good, and you?"

"Good, good." His eyes wander over to Edward curiously. They seem to be sizing each other up.

"Oh, I'm sorry – Edward, this is Jasper, Alice's fiancé. Jasper, this is Edward."

"Bella and Edward met last night." Alice adds with a meaningful grin. She wraps a hand around Jasper's arm and they seem to share a silent conversation.

"Edward Cullen." Edward steps forward and extends a hand.

Jasper's eyes widen. "Edward _Cullen_? Like… _the_ Edward Cullen?"

Edward's eyes flit to me and he hesitates before smiling stiffly. "Yes. _That_ Edward Cullen."

"Oh, wow."

Confused, I look to Alice, but she too seems to be looking at Edward in a whole new light. "You said you were a bartender…" Alice narrows her eyes, almost accusingly.

Edward clenches his jaw and glances at me before answering her. This is the least put-together I've ever seen him. "It's often the case that I have to…twist the truth slightly when meeting new people in order to ensure my own privacy."

"Wait, what's happening? What do you mean you twisted the truth?" I've had enough of being out of the loop. I take a step back.

Jasper and Alice watch us with wide eyes. Jasper clears his throat. "We should be going. It was great to see you, Bella, I'm sure we'll have you over for dinner sometime. Nice to meet you, Edward." He starts to pull Alice away.

"You too." Edward nods in his direction and rubs his jaw with one hand while avoiding my gaze.

"Call me, Bella," Alice shouts over her shoulder.

I stare open-mouthed as they leave. I turn to Edward. "What the hell is going on?"

He meets my gaze and sighs. "I may have…lied about being a bartender."

"You're not a bartender."

"No."

"So what are you?"

"I'm a businessman."

I shoot him a murderous look. "Don't play with me, Edward. What kind of businessman?"

He takes a deep breath and tucks his hands into his pockets. "I own a couple of hotels – a hotel chain, actually."

Deep breaths, Bella. "You…you own a hotel chain."

"Yes."

"What hotel chain?"

He licks his lips and hesitates before answering. "The _Savelli._ "

My head starts to feel a little too heavy for my neck and there's a strange pressure on my chest. "You own the _Savelli_ …you own this hotel."

"Yes, it's sort of a family business." He frowns. "Bella, are you alright?"

I stumble back a little and sit down on one of the plush couches lining the lobby. The couches that _he_ owns…the lobby that _he_ owns.

"You lied to me." I glare up at him. My breathing feels funny in my chest and all the alcohol from before makes me feel dizzy.

"Hey, look at me." Edward seizes my chin and forces me to look into his eyes. "You need to breathe."

"Don't tell me what to do."

Edward's eyes narrow. "You're not going to like me for this, but you need to lie down." Wrapping an arm around my waist, he yanks me up and guides me over to the elevators before I can protest. Once we're out of the lobby he bends down and hauls me up into his arms bridal style.

"Are you crazy? Put me down!" I smack him with my purse.

He looks down at me, his expression a mixture of sympathy and exasperation. "Bella, you can barely walk and you look like you're about to faint."

"Fine. I'm not going to tell you what room I'm staying in."

"I know what room you're in." He walks into the elevator and jabs the button for the eleventh floor.

"What? You stalked me?" I demand.

"I had checked to see when you were leaving, to know if I'd see you again."

That shuts me up.

We make it to my floor in silence. When we reach the door he looks down at me. "Do you have your key on you?"

"What, you don't have a copy of it?" I snark. He raises a cool eyebrow and I roll my eyes. "Put me down so I can get it out of my purse."

He sets me down but keeps an arm around my waist to support me as I swipe the keycard and open the door. I walk in and throw my bag down on the bed before sitting down and placing my head in my hands.

I hear him close the door behind him. "You should drink some water."

"I'm not drunk, Edward, I'm angry!" I look up and narrow my eyes at him.

At least he has the decency to look slightly contrite. "I'm sorry." He says finally, walking over to me. He squats down so that I can look at him without having to crane my neck. "I thought you were beautiful from the moment you ran into me. Then I was at the lounge with some friends and I went behind the bar to get some drinks, and there you were. You took me off guard. When you assumed I was a bartender, I decided to play along, because I didn't want to stop talking to you. I don't want you to be under any false impressions though; I would have had to lie to you in the beginning regardless, at least until I knew you could be trusted."

I stare at him for a few seconds. "That's stupid."

He simply shrugs.

"How do you know you can trust me now?"

He narrows his eyes. "I don't," he admits, reaching out to push my hair behind my ear just as he had done last night. "But I had to see you again. I don't know what it is about you, Bella. I have to stay at least until I figure you out. You wouldn't believe just how much people change when they know who I am or what my net worth is. So far…" He runs his hand down my cheek and neck, his fingers brushing against my collarbone. "You're defying all expectations."

I breathe in shakily. "And what if I don't want to see you again? What did I say about about you being a distraction?"

He smirks. "Now you're just looking for excuses to push me away."

"Maybe I should be trying harder."

His smirk widens. He leans in and kisses me softly on the cheek – so close to my lips that I can almost feel the corner of his lips touch mine. He gets up and starts towards the door. He has his hand on the door handle before he hesitates and turns to look back at me.

"And just for the record, I think you're a distraction too."

He lets his eyes scan me from head to toe slowly not seeming to care just how brazen he was being.

"A fucking amazing distraction."

 **A/N: Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

"Edward Cullen, son of Carlisle Cullen and owner and CEO of the luxury hotel chain, _Savelli_ ," I read off my laptop to Alice over the phone. "Apparently he was all over the news about a year ago when he took over from his grandfather."

 _"There you have it."_

"How have I never heard of him?"

 _"Bella, you wouldn't have recognized him unless he dropped his pants at the VMAs."_

"Hey I read newspapers," I say, offended. "I have a subscription to the New York Times, thank you very much."

 _"Oh yeah? And how's that doing gathering dust?"_

I roll my eyes and balance the phone between my ear and my shoulder so I can take a bite out of my bagel. "Shuph uph."

 _"What was his explanation for lying to you?"_

"Something about wanting to talk to me and his publicist telling him not to tell many people who he was." I brush some bagel crumbs off my lap. "I don't know, I'm not really mad. I don't know him well enough to be mad."

 _"You two seemed pretty cozy last night."_

I blush and am thankful that she can't see me. "He's charming, that's for sure."

She laughs. _"Oh, believe me, I remember. Are you going to see him again?"_

"Who knows with him? I think he likes being unpredictable." I pause and run a hand through my hair. "Speaking of unpredictable, Renée left me a voicemail. And she emailed me this morning."

 _"What? What did she say?"_

"I don't know. I deleted the voicemail and the email just says to call her."

Alice hesitates. _"Well…don't you want to know why she's calling?"_

"Yeah," I admit. "But that doesn't mean I want to talk to her. It's been two years since she's spoken to me…why does she want to talk to me now?"

 _"I hate to break it to you, but there's only one way you're going to find that one out."_

I hum in reluctant agreement and take another bite of my bagel.

 _"Look, Bella, you and Renée have had issues ever since the split. I'm not going to tell you how to manage your relationship with her, but you're both adults now. Maybe you'll understand her better."_

"Maybe." I don't really mean it, but I know Alice has a point.

 _"Okay, I hate to let you go like this, but I have to head in to work. Can I call you later?"_

"Yeah, of course, go work. Maybe I'll write a little."

 _Probably not._

I say goodbye to Alice and stare at my phone in my hand. My fingers involuntarily wander over to my contacts where my eyes fly to Renée's name. I take a deep breath and press the call button. Each ring makes my heart beat a little faster until she picks up.

 _"Hello?"_ Her voice is the same – light, careless, almost like she's singing.

"Um, hi. It's me."

 _"Bella! Well, isn't this a surprise."_ She sounds surprisingly warm.

"I guess. You called me though, so…" I try and fail to find a nice way to say 'what the hell do you want', so I just remain silent. Instead, I place the call on speaker and set the phone down on the desk.

 _"Right. How have you been, Bella?"_

"Good." I say slowly.

 _"How's writing? I heard you moved to Pasadena."_

"Yeah I did. Writing's going okay."

 _"How's Los Angeles treating you?"_

"I'm in New York right now, actually."

 _"Oh, wow. That's great!"_

An awkward silence ensues and I refuse to break it.

 _"Well, I have some news to share with you, actually,"_ she says finally. _"I'm getting married!"_

I nearly drop my phone. "You're _what_?"

 _"I'm getting married, Bella."_ Though she seems to be hesitant to hear my reaction, the excitement in her voice is clear.

I sit forward and massage my suddenly aching temples. "Um, okay, Renée. Congratulations, I guess?"

 _"Oh thank you, baby."_ She laughs.

"Who is this man you're…" I nearly choke on the words. "…getting married to?"

 _"He's an…" She sighs. "Amazing man. His name is Luciano."_

"…he's…Italian?"

She hums. _"And he's so handsome. Oh, you're going to love him, Bella."_

"I don't mean to be rude, but…why are you telling me this?"

 _"Well, because I'd love to have my daughter at my wedding."_ She says this as though it's the most natural thing in the world.

"You want me at your wedding?"

 _"Of course I do! I was actually wondering if you'd be willing to be my maid of honor."_

My jaw drops and I stare at the phone for a good five seconds before hunching over and clutching my stomach. I groan and rock back and forth slightly as I struggle to regain my grasp on reality. What the hell is happening to the world?

Bartenders are really rich hotel owners and distant moms came back to ask if you'll be in their wedding party.

 _"Bella? You there?"_

"I'm here." My voice comes out muffled so I sit back up. "I don't know what to say, Renée. This is…unexpected."

She swallows audibly. _"Yes, it is a little out of the blue, isn't it? Listen, Bella, I know that things haven't been great between us over the past few years. Emmett and I have patched things up, but I know you still resent me. In the divorce, you were always on Charlie's side-"_

"Because he's not the one who wanted the divorce." I interrupt, a little annoyed. I exhale loudly and close my eyes as though that'll make everything clearer.

 _"I know, I know," s_ he says hastily. _"I'm just saying that things might have been a little bit more complicated than they seemed at the time to an eleven-year-old girl."_

I open my eyes.

 _"Anyway…I've been trying to pull my life together lately and Luciano is a big part of that. I've been traveling to the most amazing places and I even talked to my psychic recently. She said that I_ _can't_ _really be happy in my new marriage if I_ _don't_ _fix all the loose ends in my last marriage."_

"You're putting me in your wedding because your psychic told you to?"

 _"No, of course not! I want you to be in it because you're my daughter."_

I fiddle with my bagel wrapper. "I don't know. I have to think about it."

 _"Of course. Just…know that we'll have to start planning soon, so I'd love your decision as quick as you can give me it."_

"Wait, when is this happening?" I frown.

 _"This summer. Oh, but we have to start planning soon if we're going to book venues. We're already behind, and a summer wedding in Italy is highly sought after, you know."_

My leg slips out from underneath me. " _Italy_? You're getting married in Italy?"

 _"Well, he wants all of his family to be there and honestly, there are so many people we'd have to invite from his side that it's easier to just go to them."_ She laughs easily at her own joke.

This phone call was going to put me in the hospital.

"Okay, I have to go, Renée. I'll call you about the…maid of honor thing." I hang up before she can say anything else.

•

The next morning, I still haven't made a decision. The rational part of me argues that Renée is still my mother and that I should go to support her. After all, I'd gone to my dad's second marriage. But the other part of me, the hurt child, doesn't want to go anywhere near her and her Italian dream wedding.

What bothers me even more than Renée, though, is the fact that I haven't heard from Edward. I know that we didn't exchange phone numbers or anything like that, but I have no doubt that if he really wanted to get in touch with me, he would.

He owns the hotel, for fuck's sake.

Maybe I had misread the signals. Maybe he's just playing with me.

Whatever the reason, it feels like the world, Renée, and Edward are teaming up to mess with my brain. I feel off balance and I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to do in this weird state of mind.

When reception calls to notify me that I have a package waiting for me in the lobby, I seize the opportunity to get out of my room.

My hair, slicked back in a high ponytail, bounces against my back as I make my way downstairs and cross the lobby to the front desk. I look at everything around me in a different light now that I know who owns it.

"Hi, I was told that I have a package waiting for me." I give the blonde, professional-looking receptionist my room number.

"Yes of course, Ms. Swan." She looks up and smiles. She slides an envelope over to me.

It's not the kind of envelope that one puts a letter in and seals – it's the kind that I received with my hotel key when I first checked in. The keycard in it is black and seems to be thicker than the thin, white one currently tucked away in my bag.

I frown and pick up the card. I look up at the receptionist. "I'm sorry, what is this?"

"Mr. Cullen instructed us to have you moved up to the suite on the fortieth floor, Ma'am. With that card, you not only get access to your room but you also receive exclusive access to the private elevator located in the far right of the lobby and to the Gold Lounge located on the 41st floor. Your personal belongings can be moved up to the suite as soon as possible – when would be most convenient?"

I stare at her for a few seconds and shake my head. "Mr. Cullen wanted me moved up to a suite?"

" _The_ suite, Ma'am. There is only one room on that floor."

I massage my temples. "Did Mr. Cullen say anything else?"

"No, Ma'am."

"And what if I say no to the room?"

She blinks a few times before responding slowly. "Ma'am, are you saying no to a free upgrade to our finest suite?"

On the one hand, I want to say no to the room just to spite him. On the other hand, I acknowledge that I would be saying no to a perfectly good suite that I could never dream of affording otherwise. And if I'm being perfectly honest, the thought of seeing him again thrills me a little.

I sigh. "No. No, of course not."

"Excellent. If you'll just follow me, Ma'am, I'll be pleased to show you personally to your new room."

I follow her to the far corner of the lobby through a set of ornate looking doors to a pair of elevators. She calls the elevator which immediately arrives.

"These elevators are used exclusively for our presidential suite." She explains.

I nod vaguely and follow her into the elevator. The elevator is bathed in a warm lighting, emphasizing the gold accents in the corners. There are large mirrors on either side of me, allowing me to casually assess my profile as we ascend the floors.

Smoothing my hair back into its place in the ponytail, I try to determine what exactly is going to happen when I get to my room. I highly doubt he would just place me in a suite and not even talk to me about it. He is definitely playing some sort of game and I need to figure out just what it is.

He can't win me over with a cute smirk and a fancy suite.

The elevator arrives on the fortieth floor and the doors opens to reveal a single pair of double doors. The floor is made of a stunning white marble that my boots clack against as I approach the beautifully-designed doors. Two panels on either side bathe the cherry wood in a gold glow.

"Wow." I breathe softly.

The receptionist smiles and uses her own keycard to open the doors for me. The first thing that I notice is the brilliant view of the New York skyline. Carpeted floors lead to a floor-to-ceiling window that looks out on the high-rises. The high ceilings make the room seem even bigger. A long hallway extends to a few doors on the left, one door slightly ajar and hinting at a bedroom. Expensive looking couches lie in the middle of the room, some facing each other, some facing the large TV on the opposite wall. A circular coffee table lies in the middle of the couches, a vase of orchids in the middle.

My breath hitches when I notice an envelope lying on the edge of the table – a real envelope this time.

I walk over to pick up the envelope and the card stock lies heavily in my hand. Scrawled in surprisingly neat and beautiful handwriting, is my name.

"Is there anything else I can get you now, Ma'am?"

Startled, I almost drop the envelope. I turn back to face her and smile appreciatively. "No, thank you."

"Please call the front desk when you're ready for your belongings to be collected and brought up here, and if there's anything else I can do, please let me know."

"I will."

She shuts the door quietly behind her.

I take a moment to view my surroundings in disbelief before turning my attention back to the envelope in my hand. I gently tear it open and pull out the perfectly tri-folded paper inside.

 _Bella,_

 _I realize that we may have gotten off on the wrong foot, and that I am mostly accountable for that. I apologize._

 _I hope the suite is to your liking. Please do not believe that I'm trying to impress you with my money. I have other means to impress you and I'd really rather my money not be a factor at all. I'd simply prefer to have you as comfortable as possible._

 _I trust that by now, someone has told you about the Gold Lounge located on the floor above you. I'd like you to meet me there at 8 o'clock tonight to join me for a drink._

 _See you then,_

 _Edward_

Dropping down into one of the chairs, I have to chuckle slightly at his confidence. He hadn't bothered with vague invitations or requests, or even a phone number so I could call him and tell him no. The man is used to getting his way and knows exactly how to do it.

It's certainly a change from the men I'm used to.

Again I find myself warring between the stubborn child in me that wants to stand him up just to show him how it feels, and the adventurous part of me that wants to know more about this mysterious man and his cryptic invitation. The ghost of his lips on my cheek alone is enough to send a thrill of excitement down my spine at the prospect of tonight and I find myself craving the adventure.

Besides, I have just the right shoes for it.

•

Tilting my head to the side, I study myself in the floor length mirror of the walk-in closet. The dress is midnight blue, tight, and falls to mid-thigh. It's long-sleeved but backless and sophisticatedly sexy. I've left my hair stick straight and slicked it back behind each ear to show off the only fancy pair of earrings I own. My eyes are made to pop against the smoky makeup around them, but I've decided to leave my lips nude to avoid a clash with the dark blue of the dress.

I smile at my reflection, pleased.

Slipping on my favorite pair of black high heels, I grab my purse and take the elevator up one floor. As the doors open and I exit, I'm greeted by a set of frosted doors with a sign to the side identifying it as the Gold Lounge.

I fiddle with my purse for a second as I stare at the doors, suddenly struck by the fact that I may be going on a date with Edward Cullen.

Did I want to go on a date with him?

I'm immediately able to reason that I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be. He's attractive, and funny, and interesting. Something between us is magnetic. Whenever we are around each other, something seems to pull us together. I would be lying if I said that it doesn't scare me slightly.

I've never been scared to go on dates before – not even on my very first date. I've always liked the guy well enough, but they have never intimidated me, they have never excited me. A part of me wouldn't even care if the date was disastrous, because what would I be losing, really? Just another vanilla relationship.

With Edward, I feel, for the first time, that I would care if something happened and we never saw each other again. My stomach clenches in dread just at the thought of it. I want this. I want to see Edward and I want to go on a date with him.

Nodding to myself resolutely, I swipe my card on the scanner on the side and push the door open. Almost immediately, I am met with a tall, older man who asks me if I would like something to drink.

"Just water for now, please. Thank you." I want my wits about me – at least for the time being.

He nods and quickly retreats to fetch me my drink.

I take a moment to look around the lounge. It's completely empty – which doesn't surprise me, he does own the hotel after all.

Just like my room, it has a stunning view of the buildings and busy roads of New York City. The room is filled with a dim light and a few couches and tables that sit in the middle. A chic-looking bar spreads out across the wall on my right side. A high counter runs along the window, with tall chairs turning them into ideal spots to work or have a drink while looking out on to the majestic view.

The older man returns with a tall, frosted glass of water. I thank him and he retreats again. I bite my lip and look around as though expecting Edward to jump out from behind the bar. The series of clocks on the wall that tell the time of New York, London, Tokyo, China, and Australia let me know that he's five minutes late.

Briefly, I wonder if he's forgotten about the invitation he extended me.

The thought makes me frown so I shove it away and walk over to the window to admire the view. The streets and stores are still decorated in brilliant shades of gold, red, and green in light of the holidays. Lights coming off of tall buildings light up the whole city. Cars fight to make their way through the streets and the busy pedestrians that get in their way are no better. It's a little bit of synchronized anarchy.

I grimace, wishing I had my journal here so I could jot down just how beautiful the city looks.

My brows furrow and I take a quick, deep breath when I realize that for the first time in over a month, I might actually want to write.

"Enjoying the view?"

My eyes fly up to the reflection in the window to see a familiar tall man with a startling emerald gaze looking right back at me. The reflection isn't the most clear but I still see his eyes dip, probably taking in my uncovered back.

"Are you?" I challenge.

His eyes slowly rise back up to meet my gaze in the reflection. "Very much so," he states without an ounce of humor in his voice.

I exhale deeply and take a sip of my water to distract from how hot I suddenly feel around the neck. "This lounge is…something," I say, in part just to fill the thick silence.

I see him smile slightly and take a step forward to stand next to me. His shoulder brushes against me and out of the corner of my eye I see him tuck his hands into the pockets of his slacks as he joins me in regarding the view.

"I've always been particularly proud of our New York location. Of course, you can't buy a view like this." He nods towards the skyline.

"Is this hotel your favorite?"

"No." He glances at me. "My favorite one is in Lucerne. Switzerland," he adds at my questioning look.

"Wow."

"I'll take you there someday."

I scoff before I can stop myself.

He tilts his head towards me. "What? You don't believe me?"

"It's hard to believe a man whom I met three days ago and whom I believed, up until two days ago, to be a bartender."

"It _has_ only been three days, hasn't it?" He muses. "It feels like it's been longer."

I agree with him silently.

He turns to face me. "I mean it, Bella. I'd like to take you to Switzerland. I'd like to take you wherever you would like to go."

Biting the inside of my cheek, I turn to finally take my first real look of him tonight. He looks stunning of course, in a flawlessly tailored black suit, white button-up, and dark-blue tie that coincidentally matches my dress. His hair is windblown – the way I like it, and there's just a hint of scruff building on his jawline.

"I thought you didn't want to impress me with your money." I take a sip of my water and he studies me carefully.

"I don't."

"Are you sure? Because so far, you've put me up in your finest suite, invited me to possibly the most lavish lounge in all of New York, and you've told me that you would like to take me to Switzerland. I'd say that money is a pretty big factor in all of that, wouldn't you?"

We stand in silence for a few seconds. I feel pretty proud about my speech and refuse to back down from his indecipherable gaze. Slowly, I watch as a large, _real_ smile fills his face and he lets out a loud laugh.

"You are…something else entirely." He takes a step forward and cocks his head to the side to look at me even more intently. "I can't figure you out."

I laugh slightly. "I don't know what you're trying to figure out about me, but let me help you out: there's nothing to figure out. I'm 23, born in San Francisco, moved to Los Angeles about a year ago, and my parents got divorced when I was eleven. I've spent about half of my inheritance on a literature degree that I'm not even currently using, and I spend the other half on shoes that no one with a sound savings plan could ever afford. I'm simple – about as simple as they come, actually."

How do I manage to rant epically even without alcohol in my system?

Edward simply studies me and the silence grows thicker by the second. "No," he says finally. "No, I don't think you're simple at all."

He takes another two steps forward and we're suddenly so close, I have to tilt my head up just to meet his gaze. Even in heels, my head just barely brushes his chin.

He glances down at the water in my hands. "No martini?" His words wash across me softly.

I grin slightly. "I figured I'd want to be sober for what you had in store for me."

He smirks, takes the glass from me, and places it on the counter between us and the window. He reaches up and cups my face in his hands, delving his fingers into my hair and gently pulling me closer. He tilts his head slightly to the side and regards me closely as I shiver at his touch. "You are the exact opposite of simple."

He presses closer to me until we're chest to chest and I can feel the hard body that I'd admired so many times through his suit. I place my hands on his waist to steady myself as he leans down.

I close my eyes and exhale shakily as his lips touch high on my cheekbone. He kisses his way down the side of my face, each kiss feather-light and bone-deep at the same time. When he arrives at the corner of my lips, he rests his forehead against mine. I open my eyes at the same time he does.

We stare at each other, giving the other ample time to back out or say no.

We smirk when neither of us do.

He leans down and finally captures my mouth with his. The kiss is anything but gentle and he doesn't hesitate to take control of my mouth with his lips and tongue. One hand leaves my hair and seizes my waist instead to pull me impossibly closer. His hand on my bare back makes me exhale headily against him.

I reach up and dig my hands into his hair – the brown locks that I'd been wanting to sink my fingers into for the past three days. Just as I begin to trace the stubble on his jaw, he pulls away.

 _What…?_

He lets go of my hair but keeps a hand on my bare back. His hand reaches out to trace my now swollen lips with his thumb. I can't help but shoot him a confused look as he drops his hand and takes a few steps back.

He meets my questioning gaze and his lips quirk slightly, but he doesn't offer any answers. Turning, he strolls over to one of the nearby tables and picks up a tumbler of an amber liquid that I suspect might be scotch. He must have had it when he came in, because I certainly didn't notice it before.

Taking a long sip, he looks at me over the rim of the tumbler.

I hate him for intimidating me like this. I hate him for kissing me like I've never been kissed before. I hate him for breaking that kiss.

"You're an asshole," I decide to voice.

His brows furrow and he chuckles as he places his drink down. "I've been called worse."

"Fucker? Bastard? Turd-bag?" I literally have no shortage of insults – I grew up with Emmett, for fuck's sake.

He simply grins, seemingly not offended in the least by my foul language; on the contrary, he seems to enjoy it. He unbuttons his suit-jacket and takes it off, laying it over the side of a nearby couch. I watch, slightly miffed that he's not more troubled by my insults, as he rolls up the sleeves of his button-down to reveal strong-looking forearms. He picks up his drink again and swirls the drink around a few times before fixing me with that burning stare of his.

"It's been a long time since I've enjoyed someone's company as much as I enjoy yours, Bella," He says finally after making me sufficiently uncomfortable. "I'd hate to ruin that by sleeping with each other too early on." He takes a casual sip of his drink.

I try to ignore how excited it makes me to hear that he enjoys my company.

"Who says we'll even get that far?"

He laughs softly at that and takes another sip. "And you think you're simple," He says into his glass. He shakes his head and looks up at me. "Let me put it this way. I like spending time with you and I'd like to spend more time with you. However, you leave a week from now and my work may call me away at a moment's notice. Essentially, all odds are against us ever having more than a chance meeting and a date or two, but…"

 _Oh, thank God there's a 'but'._

His lips twitch. "I like you, Bella. So I'm going to ask you to have a little faith. I'm only one-third asshole."

The older man who'd offered me a drink before suddenly reappears, holding what appears to be a cellphone. "Sir, you have a call."

Edward accepts the phone without breaking my gaze and answers it. A frown builds on his face as the person on the line talks. "Okay, hang on," He says into the receiver. He turns to me. "I apologize, this is actually quite an important call. I'm afraid we may have to call it a night." He grabs his jacket and drapes it over his left forearm.

"Oh. Okay," I say. I can't hide the disappointment that fills me.

"Have faith, Bella." He reminds me with a knowing grin.

He turns and walks briskly towards the door. He pauses before he reaches the golden handles and turns to me. "I don't think I've mentioned how beautiful you look tonight. You are stunning, Bella."

I watch him exit with furrowed brows, swollen lips, and disheveled hair. And I feel like a bit of an asshole myself.

 **A/N: Thank you all so much for reading! Special thanks to Tarbecca and SunflowerFran for rec'ing this story – both of you are angels :) To all my new readers, welcome! Hope you enjoy the ride.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

 _Entry 3_

 _Date: January 6th_

 _Location: New York City_

 _Motivation to Write: …growing._

•

Rain hits New York hard the next day. Although the air outside seems plenty cold to me, apparently it isn't cold enough to turn the sheets of water into snowflakes. Instead it comes out as a mix of water and gray sludge.

I sit with my journal and pen on a couch next to the floor-to-ceiling window to watch the phenomenon. Struck with a desire to write for the first time in over a month, I know that I need to put pen to paper even if I don't have a story yet.

But without a story, my pen takes on a mind of its own and decides to write about Edward. I'm slightly guilty for having judged him so quickly, especially after having heard what he had to say.

I feel even worse when I consider what he'd said about there being very little chance that we'll ever see each other again after New York, and I'm suddenly very resentful towards my check-out date.

It is so typical of my luck to throw me the only man that I have ever felt this much of a connection with at the worst possible time in my life. And it is even more typical of me to fall for the kind of man that barely has enough time for himself, let alone people he meets in hotel lobbies.

Just last night, he'd had to leave for a call and he'd told me that he could be called away for work at any time. I was stupid for assuming that his job only consisted of flirting with clients at his bar and upgrading them to suites.

 _Have a little faith._

I snort. Yeah, right. Easy for him to say.

Stuck in my room – sorry, suite – feeling sorry for myself, I flip open my laptop and load up _Clueless_. I grab my Tom Ford nail polish in Toasted Sugar and go to town on my bare-looking nails.

I usually prefer not to color my nails when I'm fighting writer's block because I have a tendency to bite my nails so much, but on bad days, very little relaxes me as much as the smell of chemicals destroying my nail beds.

The rest of the morning turns out to be very unproductive.

•

Around five o'clock in the evening, Renée and her offer comes to mind. It hurts my brain just to think about it, but I know that she needs an answer as quickly as possible.

It doesn't help that Edward hasn't contacted me in any way all day.

I still haven't left my room and I don't have any plans to. I haven't even done my makeup. My pity party is in full swing, so I figure, why not add some mommy issues in to the mix.

Having effectively placed myself in a sugar coma from the mountain of room-service ice cream that I'd ordered, I stretch as far as humanly possible from the couch without actually getting up and grab my phone from the coffee table. I unlock it and glance at the latest messages Renée has sent me. They're mostly details about how she'd like her wedding to go. I barely look at them before typing out a response that I know I'm going to regret.

I accept.

•

"So what's his deal, anyway?" Alice asks as she sprawls comfortably across my newly-made bed.

The next morning arrives and still no word from Edward. Yesterday was a total waste and it looks like today isn't going to go much better. It's still pouring outside and I've been trying to make the best of the bad weather by writing.

It hasn't gone half bad, actually. I have about twenty pages of my journal filled out from yesterday. I think that an ice cream stain on page twenty was when I'd decided that I needed to go to sleep.

Alice is a bit of a godsend. I know that if anyone can kick my ass back into gear, it's her.

She'd had an early work lunch at a nearby restaurant and wanted to know if I'd like to go get dessert with her. My pity party hadn't quite ended, so I'd invited her over to see my new room instead.

I'd even taken the time to do my makeup and try out a new silk shirt that I'd bought a couple months ago.

"If I knew, you'd be the first to hear about it," I say, absentmindedly fiddling with the hem of my shirt as I sit in a comfy chair next to the window.

"And all you did was kiss?"

"Mmhm."

Alice rolls over on her stomach to stare at me. "Why?"

"I guess he just didn't want to go too far too soon. And he got a phone call." Because, honestly, who knows what would have happened if he'd stayed longer. After what he'd said, my legs had been aching to cross those few feet in between us.

"In the middle of your date, huh?" Alice shoots me a knowing look when I nod. "Business men. You have to shut that kind of thing down right away."

I'd told Alice about everything that had happened, but not about my feelings. I know what she would say – that I have to be careful about how attached I allow myself to get to someone that I've just met.

It's the same thing I've been saying to myself for two days now.

"On the bright side, I'm going to Italy in about a week to start helping Renée plan her wedding," I try and fail to say without grimacing.

Alice shoots straight up. "You said yes?"

"Yeah."

"To be the maid of honor?"

"That's right."

"At your mom's wedding in Italy?"

"She emailed me my e-ticket this morning."

"Wow." Alice leans on her elbow. "How did this happen?"

"I don't know. I was tired. There were no good reality shows on. I think I ran out of ice-cream."

"Should I congratulate you?"

"Please don't. Knowing Renée, she's going to be the Bridezilla of the century."

"Well it has been a couple of years, maybe she's changed."

I shrug. If I didn't feel so awful about my life at the moment, I would have argued.

Sensing my bad mood, Alice hops off the bed and walks over to me. "Alright, I know all of this stuff with Edward and your writing and your mom isn't ideal, but feeling sorry for yourself is not the answer."

"I'm not feeling sorry for myself," I lie indignantly.

"Really? Come on, Bella, who are you trying to fool?" She crosses her arms. "How many cartons of Ben & Jerry's did you eat?"

"One."

She raises an eyebrow.

I sigh. "Three."

She groans. "Wake up, Bella." She slaps both hands to my face to get me to look at her.

"Ow! Alice, what the fuck?"

"You need to get your shit together. You're in New York, you have a career doing what you love, you're still living off of the riches from your last four novels, and you get to go to Italy! Not to mention, you have one of the hottest men that I've ever seen chasing after you. Face it, your rock bottom is better than most people will ever have."

I stare at her with wide eyes.

She grabs my hand and yanks me out of the chair. "Go get changed. We're going to the gym. I think I have my gym bag in my car. We're going to work off all that ice cream."

•

An hour on the treadmill and another half-hour with weights later, Alice shoots me smug looks as we walk out of the gym. I'd made the mistake of admitting to her that working out had made me feel better.

I slip a sweatshirt on over my tank top and take a large gulp of water from my water bottle. The lobby is extra crowded today from people taking shelter from the rain and I feel a little self-conscious of my sports shorts and sneakers. I've never been a very casual person when it comes to clothes, and seeing women walking around in the lobby with their high heels already makes me miss mine.

I let my hair loose from its ponytail to at least try and compensate.

"So, let's recap. No romantic comedies, no staying holed up in your room all day, and definitely no Ben & Jerry's," Alice says as we make our way to the private elevators.

I simply roll my eyes and swipe my card to open the doors. I hold the door open for Alice and walk in after her.

"Oh shit," Alice says, and before I even look up, I know what I'm in for.

Sure enough, Edward is standing in front of us. He leans against a table at the end of the room. His hands are in his pockets and his legs are crossed at the ankles. He's in a black-button down and gray slacks, seeming to have already lost the suit-jacket. I have a feeling he doesn't care for them too much.

He still looks like a model for Armani.

And I'm in my gym clothes. Wonderful.

"Hi Alice, Bella." His eyes dart briefly to my exposed legs before turning back to Alice and smiling politely. "How have you been?"

"Good, Edward, and you?"

He smirks at me before answering. "Great."

I roll my eyes and fight a smile.

Alice clears her throat and inches towards the elevators. "So, I think I'll just wait upstairs for you in your room, Bella."

"Oh. Yeah, sure." I fish my spare key out of my sweatshirt pocket and hand it to her.

"Nice seeing you, Edward."

"You too, Alice."

We wait until the elevator doors close before turning back to each other. He smiles slowly at me.

"Hi."

"Hey." I bite my lip.

He uncrosses his ankles and makes his way over to me. He reaches out and cups my cheek with one hand, not noticing or not caring that I'm probably still sweaty. "I'd like to apologize again about leaving early that night. Believe me when I say that I would have loved nothing more than to have stayed there with you. How are you?"

Now? Fantastic.

"I'm good." I reach out and place my hands on his chest before I can stop myself. He glances briefly at my hands and smirks. "How did your important phone call go? Are you still a millionaire?"

He chuckles. "Yes, my millions are safe."

"Oh, good. I thought you were here to kick me out of my suite."

"You like the suite, do you?"

"You've spoiled me for normal hotel rooms."

He grins and pinches my chin slightly to tilt my head up. "Well, when you travel with me, you'll never be staying in a normal hotel room."

My heart speeds up slightly. "Don't say that."

"Why not?"

"It's not right to get my hopes up."

"You're not a very…positive person, are you?"

"I'm a writer, Edward. Even our dreams are realistic."

He leans in and brushes my bottom lip with his thumb. "That's a shame, you know. After all, nothing about us seems realistic."

My fingers clench against his shirt. "That's not what I meant."

"I know," He runs a hand through my hair to tuck it behind my ear. His eyes trace my face, as though trying to memorize each feature. "I just think that you're not as realistic as you believe yourself to be. If you were, you wouldn't be here with me right now."

I quirk an eyebrow. "No one likes a know-it-all."

He smirks. "I think you like me just fine."

I look down at my hands on his chest. They're small against his broad frame. I like it. I like his hands on my skin. I like that he doesn't care that I'm sweaty. His gaze is still on me and I like that, too.

All of a sudden, his hand tilts my face up to him and he captures my lips. Tingles shoot through my flesh. He seizes my waist and presses me to him with a force that alights every part of my body. My hands grasp at his hair to yank him closer to me and the action is as natural as snow in winter.

Gentle pressure on my hips pushes me back against the wall. I gasp into his mouth when his hands grasp my bare thighs and lift me up. My ankles link around his hips. He exhales roughly, consumedly into my mouth before his lips leave mine to explore the expanse of my neck. Every kiss he places along my skin makes me clutch him that much closer to me.

All too soon, his kisses slow and my skin hosts the lingering breath of his touch. He kisses my cheek one last time before gently placing me on my feet. His hands on my waist are the only things that steady me.

Our eyes open and the first thing they find are the other.

He squeezes my waist gently. "Someone as jaded as you think you are doesn't kiss like that," he says. I snort and he grins. "I got you something." He walks over to the table and grabs a small bag that I hadn't noticed before.

Curiously, I accept the bag and reach in to pull out something warm and round, covered in wrapping that I would recognize anywhere. "You got me a bagel?" I ask in disbelief.

"I did."

"This is from my favorite bagel place."

"It is."

"How did you know where I get my bagels?"

"I have my ways."

I narrow my eyes. "You had your staff spy on me, didn't you?"

He chuckles. "I've been told that every morning you come back with two things – coffee and that bagel. I missed the coffee, though. Sorry."

I want to be mad at him for spying on me, but the smell of the bagel is intoxicating. "You are one slick bastard, Edward Cullen."

"I have to be if I'm keeping up with you." He digs his hands into his pockets and looks quite pleased with himself.

"I don't know if I should be embarrassed or not that I'm so easily manipulated with food. What hole are you trying to dig yourself out of?"

He chuckles, but it's brief. The amusement falls from his face. "I actually have to tell you something."

My stomach clenches in dread and the change of mood in the room is tangible. "What?"

He takes a step back and runs a hand through his hair and down to the back of his neck. "I'm going to be traveling around quite a bit for the next few months."

I take a deep breath and try to tell myself that it's nothing I hadn't expected. "When do you leave?"

"Tonight."

That's…soon. "Well, where are you going?"

"I start off in Singapore and then make my way to London and across Europe."

"That many places?"

He meets my gaze. "The _Savelli_ is an international chain, Bella. I've just taken over recently. I need to go around and implement my changes, make a name for myself."

I fiddle with the bag in my hands to quiet my suddenly fidgety fingers. "You'll come back to The States every now and then though, right?"

He exhales softly. "I don't know. It's unlikely. At least not for the first three months."

I nod because I understand. I really do. I've always appreciated someone who works hard at their job. It's the reason why I've always admired Alice so much.

Then why do I hate the sound of those words coming from his mouth?

"Okay." I clear my throat. "Well, I guess if it's work then you have to go, right? You should go. I mean, you're going. That's fine."

Edward crosses his arms against his chest and studies me as I struggle to pull my thoughts together. But every word I speak fights against a thick knot in my throat.

"We knew this was going to happen, we even spoke about it. So, it's fine."

"You said that." He finally speaks.

"I-what?"

"You already told me it's fine."

"Oh. Okay. I'll just be going then." I turn on my heel and head for the elevators.

He grabs my arm and spins me back to him before I can hit the call button. "Are you really okay with not seeing me for seven months?"

"You're going to be gone for _seven months_?" I gape at him. He hadn't mentioned a number before. He simply raises an eyebrow and waits for his answer. I sigh angrily and push his hand off my arm. "Of course I'm not okay with that! Distance kills baby relationships; everyone knows that. But how is me saying that going to help anyone?"

His jaw clenches and unclenches rhythmically like a metronome. His eyes are impossible to read. "I need to ask you something."

My shoulders sag. "What?"

He moves closer to me and places a hand on my hip. "I meant it when I said I'd take you anywhere you'd like to go, Bella. You could come with me. It would be a lot of traveling, but the _Savelli_ has locations in some extraordinary places. You could even work on your writing." He brushes my cheek gently. "Travel the world with me, Bella."

For a moment, I consider it. My overactive imagination slides images of writing underneath the Eiffel Tower and walking past the London Eye under my gaze and it takes me a few seconds to shove them away.

I close my eyes and shake my head as though getting rid of snow. "You know that I can't do that."

He narrows his eyes and his hands fall. "Why not?"

"I can't travel around the world with you while you do your job like some sort of kept woman. I've been around a lot of women in my life who just chased after wealthy men, and I hated it." I remember some of my mother's friends and how they would look down at my middle-class dad. "I can't…as much as I would like to be with you for longer, I can't go with you. I'm sorry."

Edward just stares at me for a few seconds and I hold his gaze because I can't help but wonder when I might see him again. "I had a feeling you would say that," he admits finally. He rubs his jaw and studies me carefully. "Just for the record, I don't ask every woman I meet to travel with me."

"Well, you've already claimed you're only one-third asshole, so I would hope not," I try to joke. It doesn't make me feel better like I thought it would.

He grins slightly and reaches out to cup my face in his hands. He leans down and kisses me once, twice, softly and briefly before pulling away. Then he reaches around me to press the call button for the elevator.

"You are easily the most interesting woman I've ever met." He swipes my bottom lip gently with his thumb. The elevator dings obnoxiously behind me and I hear the doors open. "Take care, Bella."

He steps back from me and places his hands in his pockets. Not really knowing what else to do or say, I step into the elevator and swipe my card. The doors close and I finally allow myself to look up.

I hate the mirrors around me. I hate the feeling of the bagel bag in my hand. I hate that I'm taking a private elevator up to a suite that I would have never gotten if it weren't for him. And I have a sudden craving for Ben & Jerry's.

Well, goddamn. I think I just broke my own heart.

•

"You can't blame yourself, Bella. That's just the way life works out sometimes," Alice says consolingly as I sit on the edge of the sofa.

"I know. I just wish I could forget, I wish I had something to take my mind off of it."

"Well, you could write," Alice suggests.

I snort. "Writing is the worst thing I could do. I don't have a story, so I'll probably just end up writing about him again. That's one of the bad things about writing, you know? Everything you're feeling shows up on paper. You can't hide it." I sigh frustratedly. "Writing really sucks some times."

Alice smiles and shakes her head as she brings me some water. "I hate real estate some times, too. The paperwork, dealing with annoying clients…it's not for everyone. But really, it's what I love, it's what I'm good at. Don't even try to pretend that you'd be happy doing anything else."

I rest my hand on my chin after a long sip of water. "I'm not happy with anything right now."

"Then get out. Go do something different. Bella, you came to New York for a change and I've yet to see you even try to do something cool or new. You can't sit at home and wait for New York to shit magic on you." Alice rolls her eyes and plops down next to me.

I furrow my brows and get up. I turn to look at her. "You know what? You're right. I need to get out. I know why this whole rejuvenation thing didn't work out – it's because I didn't go far enough away! I need to call my Renée and ask her to move up my Italy flight dates. The sooner, the better. I need a distraction."

I hop across her feet and run over to the table to grab my phone from my bag.

"What? No, Bella, that's not what I meant!"

"No, Alice, this is the best idea you've had this whole trip."

"By 'trip' do you mean the five days that you've spent almost entirely in this hotel?" Alice asks sarcastically, getting out of the chair and following me as I dial Renée's number. "And this is not my idea! Bella, I told you to get out and explore New York, not fly across the world to visit the one person who could single-handedly drive you insane!"

I shush her as the ringing on the phone tells me that the call is going through. Alice groans and plops down on a nearby chair.

Renée answers on the third dial. "Hey, Renée, it's Bella. I was wondering if you could move up those flight tickets so that I could get there earlier and we could bond a little bit."

Her answering squeal of excitement tells me all that I need to know. I grin and point excitedly at the phone to Alice. "I'm going to Italy," I hiss while covering the receiver.

She just buries her face in her hands.

 **A/N: Thank you so much, Rita, for rec'ing this story over on Rob Attack, and gabby1017 for rec'ing it on her story! Again, to all new readers: welcome; to all the older readers: welcome back! Thank you for your lovely comments, reviewers, and please do let me know what you think! I think I managed to reply to everyone, other than guests and those who have turned off their PM services, of course. Oh, and please have faith – I did promise a HEA. :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:**

Clothes are everywhere. They lie on the ground in heaps, across chairs which I think groan under their weight, and in piles of anarchy on an unmade bed. My two suitcases lie innocently open and empty at my feet.

Normally, I'm a very meticulous packer. I start a day early, make a list of what I need, set reminders, and even organize my clothes according to type and weather propriety.

Something about me is off though. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what it is – Edward's flight would have taken off last night, if what he'd told me is right. It's hard to ignore the twinges of unease that have been building steadily in my stomach since yesterday afternoon. I've been trying to drown these feelings in complementary chocolates that I'd found on my bed yesterday.

Besides, by now, he could be halfway across the world, and with any luck, I will be too by this time tomorrow.

I sigh as I hopelessly toss another pair of boots into the corner of the room. Of course, none of that is going to happen if I don't finish packing and make this flight.

Happy chiming plays from my open laptop and I stumble over a pair of designer jeans to see a Skype call from my dad.

Oh, crap.

I've been putting off telling my dad that I am going to Renée's wedding for fear of how he would react. They've been on speaking terms for a couple of years now, but I know that he still resents her slightly for breaking up the family – just as I do.

I can lie perfectly well over a text or email, but I won't stand a chance if I have to look into his eyes. As a former police officer, he knows how to get someone to tell the truth. One twitch of his abnormally large mustache and he could have the most secretive criminals spilling out their darkest secrets.

Hesitantly, I accept the call to be greeted by said mustache taking up most of my screen and him muttering angrily straight into the mic.

"I hate this new goddamn technology…how the hell do you work this thing?"

"Hi, dad."

He startles visibly. "Bella, why can't I see you?"

I roll my eyes and pick up a couple of shirts to start folding. "Are you looking at the camera or your screen?" His silence tells me all I need to know. "Raise your laptop screen up and back away from the camera so that I can see your face."

He finally adjusts the camera so I can see him. I grin and wave. He shoots me a rare grin back. "There you are. What are you doing, packing?"

"Mmhm. I texted you, remember? I'm leaving New York a little early."

"Yeah, I saw it. You go there to stay for two weeks and now you're leaving after a couple days? What gives?"

"What's wrong, you don't want me in the same state again?" I hedge.

He leans in and raises an eyebrow.

Damn it.

I sigh. "Have you spoken to Renée recently?"

"I guess. Why?"

"Well, she's getting married to some Italian in Italy this summer." I pause, waiting to see his response. He doesn't seem surprised at all. "Wait – you knew?"

"Of course I know about the wedding," He says, rolling his eyes. "Your mom told me about a week ago and Emmett told me yesterday that she'd invited him."

"Oh. Okay, then. Well, I was planning on going to it."

"What does that have to do with you leaving New York now?"

This was going to be the hard part. "Well, Renée wanted her maid of honor to be there a little early to help her plan things."

He stares at me silently for a few seconds. His bushy eyebrows pull together slightly and he drops my gaze. The silence grows thicker and thicker before he clears his throat and rubs his mustache roughly with the side of his hand. "You're going to be in her wedding party, huh?"

I exhale heavily and level him with an honest stare. "Yeah."

He has always known that I'd been the one to take the divorce the hardest. I'd held on to the bitterness long after he, himself, had let it go. In a way, I'd felt like I was supporting him by being angry for him.

"That's…nice, Bells. I think it'll be good for you and your mother." He sits back in his chair and nods, almost to himself.

I smile. "Thanks, dad."

•

 _Entry 4_

 _Date: January 9th_

 _Location: Rome, Italy_

 _Motivation to Write: Hiding. Let's see if the Roman air can do something about that._

•

My fingers knead into a crick in my neck as I sit in the backseat of a luxurious black Audi. Eight hours in coach next to a woman who snored louder than my father had made me ache in places that I hadn't even known could hurt. Renée had originally booked tickets in business class (thanks to her large inheritance), but the last-minute date change had bumped me down to economy.

Coach isn't unfamiliar territory for me, but I'd never taken an eight hour plane journey in my life. Stretching out against the smooth interior of the car and breathing fresh air instead of the stale, recycled air of the airplane makes me sigh appreciatively.

Upon arriving at the Leonardo da Vinci International Airport in Fiumicino, I'd turned my phone back on to see messages from Renée notifying me of the car she'd sent to pick me up. Sure enough, a tall, clean-shaven man in a crisp black suit had been waiting for me in the arrivals hall, carrying a sign with my name.

Guido, who'd introduced himself to me while loading my luggage into the back of the car, spoke perfect English, though with a slight accent. He'd even been kind enough to teach me some basic Italian and hadn't laughed when I'd butchered my pronunciation.

The drive from the airport soothes the headache that has been building for the last hour in anticipation of meeting Renée. I take the opportunity to look out the window at the Roman countryside. We stay on what appears to be a highway for quite a while before entering the crowded streets of Rome.

Even from the car, I can see the tops of impressive, sun-bronzed stone buildings. Lush green trees and gardens adorn beautifully colorful buildings. Even in winter, seemingly endless crowds of tourists follow their tour guides around, looking a bit like lost puppies with Canon DSLRs strapped around their necks. Everything we pass seems to have some ancient story in its foundations and I suddenly find myself immensely pleased with my decision to come here early.

I reach into my bag and dig out my journal and pen.

"You are a writer, Miss?" Guido asks, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.

"I haven't written much in the past few months, but yes." I smile wryly at him.

"My wife used to write when we were first married."

"Really? Anything I might have read?"

He laughs. "No, she writes in Italian, and she stopped writing a few years ago."

I glance up at his reflection in the rearview mirror. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Oh no, she is not sad. She says that you cannot force a pen to write."

I consider him for a second before offering him a small smile and turning to look back out the window.

Another thing that I learn very quickly is that Italians like to drive _fast_. I'd always thought it to be a bit of a stereotype, but as we speed down narrow, tourist-filled roads, I find myself grabbing on to anything I can hold to brace myself. On each turn, I'm sure that we'll hit someone or the side of the building, but Guido always manages to squeeze his way out of trouble. There's a lot of defensive driving going on and I'm sure it can't be easy, but Guido chats with me cheerfully the whole time about his family and how he came to work for Renée and her fiancé.

I breathe a sigh of relief as he finally escapes the crowded streets. The car snakes up a winding road that seems to be climbing up a small hill. We reach a gate that opens immediately to reveal a small, circular driveway. I put my journal away in my bag and lean forward to take a look at the 'small, quaint villa' that Renée had mentioned her soon-to-be-husband had built a few years ago.

The building is an elegant burnt beige color with a large, white main door and matching columns in front of the patio. It appears to be a modest two stories but it's sweeping length sideways makes up for it. Tall trees with small tufts of green on the top line the sides of the property.

Guido opens my door for me and I thank him before getting out.

I shake my head as I turn and take a look at the stunning view that the front yard affords of the city. I can even see the tops of some of the magnificent structures I'd seen on the drive. A thrill shoots through me at the thought of exploring this city for the next few months.

Renée has always liked the taste of the luxurious, so I know she must be very happy here with her obviously rich fiancé.

"Bella!" Almost on cue, I hear her familiar lilt from behind me.

Bracing myself like I'd done in the car, I turn around to see her glide gracefully down the steps towards me. She hasn't aged a day. Her dirty blonde hair doesn't have a single gray in it, her hazel eyes are lit up, and her skin is wrinkle-free. She looks as elegant as ever in a white blazer, black slacks, and high heels. Her hair is done up in an elegant bun at the nape of her neck and her makeup is flawless.

I never said I didn't like her style.

"Hi, Renée." I smile stiffly as she approaches.

"Oh, Bella, it's so good to see you!" She reaches out and immediately envelopes me in a long hug. When five seconds pass and she's yet to let go of me, I hesitantly place my hands on her back in return.

I cough awkwardly. "It's good to see you too."

She leans back and flashes me a huge smile. She takes my cheeks in her hands. "Look how beautiful you are. You must have the boys back home tripping over their feet to get to you."

I guess she didn't get the memo about my shitty luck in love.

I grimace as her words remind me of Edward. I gently pry her hands away from my face. "Not really. But you look happy. Where's your fiancé?"

"Oh, I almost forgot – Luciano, come meet Bella!" She calls over her shoulder and I glance behind her to see a tall man walking towards us briskly. I can't believe I hadn't noticed him before.

He's handsome. He has sun-bronzed skin and short, light brown hair. He looks fairly well-built for a man his age. A broad smile meets his well-defined cheekbones and he has a kind face.

"Bella," He greets, leaning in gently for a kiss on each cheek before wrapping an arm around a beaming Renée's shoulders. "It's so nice to finally meet you. You're all Renée's been talking about for the past two weeks."

Just the past two weeks, huh.

I notice that he doesn't have even a hint of an Italian accent. "It's nice to meet you too, Luci-um, I'm so sorry, how do you say your name?"

He chuckles. "It's Phil."

I shoot Renée a confused glance. "I thought your name was-"

"Luciano is my middle name," Phil interjects helpfully. "I'm only Italian on my mother's side, and no one calls me Luciano other than my Italian relatives. Of course, that's until Renée heard it and she's refused to call me Phil ever since."

Ah. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Such typical Renée. She probably wanted to call him that so that her life sounded more exotic.

Renée and Phil usher me into the house which seems to be even more spacious on the inside than it appears to be on the outside. They give me a quick tour of the house, though I think I'm going to need a map to make sure I don't get lost. My room, located on the second floor, overlooks the same stunning view that I'd admired from the driveway and I'm thankful for that.

The room is a light, pretty shade of yellow and large with an extremely comfy-looking four-poster bed in the middle of the room. Sheer fabric drapes from the sides of the bed and I have to applaud Renée for her taste in furniture. The room even opens up to my own personal balcony.

"I hope you like your room," Renée says from the doorway. "You could always choose one of the others if you'd like."

I glance up at her and I'm surprised to see her actually look a little nervous. She's fidgeting with her hands and Renée Martin rarely fidgets.

Taking pity on her, I smile. "It's beautiful. I love it."

Her relief is evident and she smiles radiantly. "I'm happy you like it. I'll give you some time to get settled in. Oh, and I left you a copy of my wedding binder on the desk." She points towards the mahogany desk in the far corner of the room, and a thick plastic folder about a foot high that sits on it. "I have a bunch of ideas, and I'd love your input."

I swallow back my groan. "Sounds fun."

I turn back to the magnificent view from the balcony once she leaves. I grip the cold iron railing. I take a deep breath of the fresh air and close my eyes.

Wind rushes its fingers through my hair and it's the same wind that rustles the leaves on the trees in the garden beneath me. There's honking in the distance that reminds me of the busy city. The air is brisk, but not too chilly. The city is everything I could want. Not even the devil could complain in a paradise like this.

But when I open my eyes and look at all the greenery around me, I can't help but notice that it's all a shade too light or a shade too dark, and none have the brilliance of a stunning emerald green.

 **A/N: I know that this is a very short chapter, but I will be uploading the next chapter the day after tomorrow (or even sooner) to make up for it. These chapters will be a time of introspection for Bella, so please bear with me/her – Edward will reappear soon enough, but right now my focus is on Bella as a character. Thank you all for your lovely reviews; criticism, comments – all are appreciated.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6:**

 _Entry 5_

 _Date: February 13_

 _Location: Rome, Italy_

 _Motivation to Write: Back in business._

•

 _Everything in Rome is history. Thousands of years later, people still flock to this city to experience the beauty of a place – not forgotten by time, but rather built around. No corner store nor office building interrupts the broken, yet proud ruins of the city. Even from atop my pedestal of ignorance, the grand structures and piazzas whisper stories. What better place in the world is there to come, looking for inspiration? Every cracked stone is sun-bleached gold._

•

I have never been a big fan of coffee, but I appreciate the art that goes into making the perfect cup. Beans the color of dark chocolate, roasted to perfection, and ground into a fine dusting of brown gold.

Phil likes to brew his own coffee every day. I've always been a bit of an early-riser, so sitting with him in the kitchen while he makes his coffee every day is how I've gotten to know him.

He actually turns out to be quite an interesting and fun person to be around. He's smart, funny, and despite being fairly wealthy, is very down-to-earth. In the past few weeks, he's told me about his unique upbringing. He was born in Italy, just a few hundred miles outside of Rome, but his parents moved to Chicago soon after his birth for his schooling. After finishing his master's in the University of Pennsylvania, he moved back to Rome to set up a few high-scale restaurants.

He speaks very fondly of his family here and tells me that despite growing up in the US, he's always felt more of an affinity to Rome and Italy, and I really can't blame him.

Rome is easily one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen.

Being in Rome feels like being carried back in time. The ancient architecture stands just as proud as it did hundreds of years ago. The cars and more modern buildings seem almost like background noise in comparison to the spectacular, looming structures lurking behind every street corner. Simply being in the presence of the Colosseum or the Temple of Venus and Rome is like stepping foot into the days of its construction. Even the air around the city is electric with excitement.

I've been writing more than ever. I still don't have a story, but my journal entries have grown longer and longer, and oftentimes I go to bed with cramps in my wrist. Each day, I feel refreshed and ready to write more.

I steep my tea and sit down at the island in the middle of the kitchen as I consider the fact that I've been here for almost a month. It simultaneously feels like two days, and a year.

"Someone's deep in thought today." Phil joins me at the island with a steaming hot cup of Italy's best coffee. "Plotting out a bestseller?"

"No, just my plan for world domination." I grin as he chuckles. "I'm actually thinking about how I've been here for almost a month now."

"Huh." He furrows his brows and glances at the calendar on the wall. "I guess you have. That leaves about…five months until you go back."

"That leaves about five months until you get married," I remind him teasingly. "Are you going to be ready to say 'I do' to Renée Martin by then?"

He laughs and shakes his head. "You know, I get that this is hard for you to understand, but she _is_ the love of my life. I'm ready to marry her now."

Almost on cue, angry mutterings from the hallway precede Renée. "…still need to finalize the guest-list, send out the save-the-dates, talk to that crazy photographer…"

She breezes into the room, her nose buried in a notebook as she jots down her thoughts. She stands in a pair of dark-wash, skin-tight designer jeans and a beautiful flowing white top. And heels, of course.

She pauses suddenly in the middle of her scribblings and looks up. She squints for a few seconds, then shakes her head, scratching something out furiously.

"Morning, honey," Phil says cautiously. "You're up early."

"I have a million things to do today, I essentially have to be in ten different places at once. I have to pick out a font for the save-the-dates; I was thinking Castro, but then my snobby friend Marsha said that it looked whorish – what the hell does she know? And the photographer pushed our meeting back _again_ …" Her eyes fall on Phil's coffee. "Oh, thank God."

She nearly flings her notebook across the island and grabs Phil's cup. She takes a long sip and groans, massaging her head. She turns on her heel and starts walking towards the attached family room.

Phil shoots me a look before following her quickly and seizing her by the shoulders. "Okay, you're spinning out a tiny bit here. Why don't you just take a deep breath and tell us what we can do to help."

She sighs and grips his arm with her free hand. "I need a break. I love you, but I don't know how much more of this I can take."

"Okay, then let's take a break."

She gives him a pointed look. "You know we can't do that. We only have five months until the wedding and we're still so far behind. I knew we should have waited until next year."

"Well, I don't know about you, but I want to marry you now." He leans in and gives her a small kiss. "Look, just table everything you have going on. We'll take a few days off and go somewhere nice for some rest. Whatever we need to deal with, it'll be here when we get back. And everything else, I'm sure Bella will be able to handle just fine, right?"

They both turn to me.

I swallow my tea and tip my cup in their direction. "I've got your back, Renée." I wink at her.

She shoots me a grateful smile and sighs. "Some rest does sound nice. A few stress-free days with nothing to worry-" She pauses abruptly and her eyes widen. "Oh, shit! I forgot to call the caterer for the engagement party!"

"Honey, can't it wait?" Phil asks as she slams her cup down on the counter, spilling coffee in every direction.

"I have to call before nine or we lose the deposit!"

We both watch her sprint out of the room.

I take a slow sip of my tea and turn to Phil. "You still want to marry her?" I smirk over the rim of my cup.

He sighs. "I do. God save me."

•

During my first week in Rome, Guido had taken me to a small café close by to introduce me to his wife, Lorenza. Apparently, she had been asking about me – the American writer who couldn't write.

At that point, I'd been yearning for any company that wasn't Renée, so I'd been all to eager to go with him. I was happy to find that I actually quite enjoyed Lorenza's company. She, like her husband, speaks perfect English and is one of the sweetest women I've ever met.

Whenever I'd been feeling a little lonely, or stressed from still having no story, or Renée had been driving me crazy, she would welcome me with a cup of tea and a listening ear. She'd even been kind enough to act as my tour guide a few times.

It hadn't taken me long to figure out that she was shy, but brilliant. She doesn't say very much, but the little she does say is carefully thought-out and powerful.

She is a little taller than me with beautiful black hair and I am perpetually jealous of her tan skin the color of perfectly-cooked pizza crusts.

"Some rest for Renée is good," She says after I tell her about this morning's events. "And for you too, I think."

I hum vaguely in agreement. "It can't be a bad thing." I fiddle with the tablecloth. "You should come over when they're gone."

"I would love to." Lorenza smiles widely.

We sit in the back of the café, observing the people that come and go.

"I need a job," I say, sighing. "I can't just sit around waiting for a story to come to me. I feel so useless."

"If you need a job, you can always come work here. We could use more English-speaking waiters. But I don't think that is your problem. You seem…uneasy." She pauses. "Is it because of a man?"

My thoughts flash briefly to the last lingering kisses that Edward placed on my lips before he left my life.

I take a deep breath and chuckle. "No."

In truth, not a day had gone by where I hadn't thought of him. He was almost always on my mind during the day and on an endless loop in my dreams at night. Never in my life had I felt an instant connection with someone like I'd felt with him; I'd thought that they just didn't exist. Thinking about him makes my throat dry and my stomach clench.

What hits me the hardest is knowing that he's out there and knowing that I still can't have him. I'm eight-years-old again and too short to reach the cookies. I almost wish I hadn't met him.

We'd only had a few days together. A few days too many or a few days too little.

Lorenza shoots me a knowing look as I retreat into my silence, but doesn't say anything.

Sandro, one of the more handsome waiters, makes his way over to our table and asks if he can get us anything. I decline and thank him politely. He nods but lingers, staring at me a bit too long for comfort. He finally smiles and retreats when I give no indication of taking the conversation further.

Lorenza and I watch him leave before she turns and smiles softly. "Sandro talks about you after you leave, you know."

I raise an eyebrow at her and chuckle. "I'm not here for Sandro."

"You're not here for yourself. Then who are you here for, Bella?"

 _Renée_ , I want to say. Something about the way she asks makes me doubt myself.

She pats my hand and gets up to go help in the kitchen.

•

The next day is an early rise for all of us.

Phil has planned a relaxing getaway to a nearby lakeside town for Renée and himself and they have to leave early in order to avoid traffic. So at 6:30 in the morning, the house is alive and filled with the sounds of bags being hauled down the stairs by Phil (he refuses to let anyone help him), and Renée stressing out about anything and everything (does your assistant know that we're leaving? does mine? do we have the keys?).

It's a startling difference from the quiet that I usually enjoy at this time of day.

Knowing that Phil probably needs help dealing with Renée's crazy, I make my way downstairs. Three suitcases stand at the door, two-and-a-half of which I'm willing to bet my entire shoe collection belong to Renée. One would think she'd pack a little lighter for just a weekend getaway.

God help us all when she packs for her honeymoon.

Dressed in a puffy white jacket, Renée runs her hands through her hair while muttering – mostly to herself. She jumps when she sees me. "Bella, there you are. You know where the fire extinguisher is, right? And the first aid kit?"

Phil rolls his eyes at me over her shoulder as he yanks open the front door.

I bite my lip to contain my laugh. "Yeah, I know."

My relationship with Renée hasn't blossomed quite as nicely as mine with Phil has. I do my best to put aside the bitterness and on most days, I can even forget that it's there. She's nice to me (sometimes overly nice), and I'm nice to her, and we can get along just fine. She's still completely crazy, but it's a crazy that I can deal with.

I don't think that she's fully grasped the fact that I am an adult now, though. I suppose that for her, parenting me stopped twelve years ago when the divorce was finalized. Interactions between us after that had been limited and tense, at best.

"And how about the dishwasher – you know how to work that, right? If you have any problems, just leave it for Carlotta," she refers to the sweet cleaning lady that stops by twice a week.

"I think I can figure it out," I say slowly, glancing at Phil for help.

"Renée, she can handle it," Phil says with a touch of exasperation. "We're going to hit traffic, come on."

"Okay, okay." Renée takes a deep breath and grabs a hold of the handle for one suitcase while Phil takes the other two. "Oh, and no house parties!"

Phil and I both turn to stare at her.

She winces. "Or…you're too old for that stuff. Sorry."

Phil all but pushes Renée out the door in front of him and I watch as they make their way towards their car. I smile and wave as they finally pull out of the driveway.

Closing the door behind me, I turn to face the empty house and wonder what in the hell I'm supposed to do now.

•

"Rome seems nice. They're taking good care of you over there, aren't they?" My dad's voice sounds from my laptop on the counter as I set about chopping some peppers for dinner.

"They're taking great care of me. Really, I want for nothing."

All I hear is a gruff 'hmph' in response.

I smile slightly and shake my head, turning to look at him. "Phil's actually pretty cool, dad."

"He's ' _cool_ ', is he?"

"Yes, he's cool." I walk over to the counter and empty the cutting board full of peppers into a small bowl. "He's well-mannered, smart, and treats Renée well. Isn't that what you said I should look for in any man I'm interested in?"

"What I remember saying is that you shouldn't be interested in any man, period." He leans back and takes a sip from a can of Budweiser.

I roll my eyes. "When I told you that Jimmy Conroy was my prom date, you asked me if he was well-mannered, smart, and treated me well. Don't act like you don't remember."

"Yeah yeah, I remember." He takes another long sip from his can before chuckling slightly. "Didn't stop me from pulling my shotgun out on 'im when he came by to pick you up."

"I still resent you for that." I point at him with my knife for emphasis as I head over to the sink.

A silence falls over our conversation for a few moments as I wash up the knife and the cutting board. The hot, soapy water feels comforting against my hands, like someone is holding on to them.

"I worry about you, you know," he finally says. I glance up to see him massaging his face with one hand before leveling me with a genuine stare. "You don't sound the same. Before you left for New York, you were confused about your writing and all that, but when you called me from there, you just…" He pauses and shakes his head. "You can talk to me. About anything."

I know what he's talking about. Alice had mentioned it a while back too. Maybe I am different, a bit more subdued. But how can I explain to any of them why I think I feel this way?

Six months in one of the greatest cities in the world, planning an elaborate wedding, a great set of friends and family to help me along…complaining would make me look crazy. But beyond all of that, I can't help but feel like I've been cheated somehow.

Cheated out of something that everyone around me seems to have.

I see it everyday with Renée and Phil. They fell in love over a year ago in Italy, of all places, and they still look at each other like they need the other to breathe.

Shaking my head, I yank my hands out of the embrace of the soapy water and grab a towel to dry them. "Thanks for the concern, dad, but I'm fine."

He narrows his eyes, but lets it go and focuses his attention back on his beer.

The shrill ringing of the landline suddenly fills the kitchen and I hurry over to grab it. I glance at the caller ID.

"It's Phil." I look over at my Dad. "Do you mind if I take this really quickly? It could be important."

He rolls his eyes and grunts.

I take that as an approval and answer the phone. Phil quickly tells me that both Renée and he are fine, but that he really needs my help in taking an important folder over to one of his restaurants to hand over to the manager. I happen to know this particular restaurant fairly well, having been there so many times in the past few weeks, so I readily agree.

After hanging up I turn back to my computer where my dad raises an impatient brow. "How long does a damn phone call take?"

•

According to Phil, coming back to his family in Italy each year was like adding ten more mothers. In setting up his restaurants, he named each one after one of his close relatives who'd helped in raising him.

My favorite, and the one he has asked me to deliver the folder to, is named after his biological mother, Adrianna. It's his first restaurant and the most traditionally beautiful. With a menu crafted by a Michelin-star chef, and beautiful panoramic views of St. Peter's Basilica sitting in the distance, _Adrianna_ is one of the most renown restaurants in the entire city. People wait months to get a reservation.

I tell the host who I am, and I'm quickly ushered through the back and into the office of the manager. The manager, Mr. Evans, is one of Phil's most trusted colleagues from back in university. He's originally from the UK but he had relocated here with his family at Phil's request a couple of years back to take over in managing a few restaurants.

I've met him quite a few times since I've been here and he's always been very friendly. He stands just a few inches taller than me, with a slightly receding hairline, and a stomach that strains against the buttons on his shirt. In previous conversations, he's blamed Italian food and a wife that loves to cook for his weight gain.

"Bella, how are you?" He greets jovially as he stands from his desk to give me a hug. He looks me up and down. "You look wonderful!"

"Thanks, Mr. Evans, you too. How's your family?"

"Both fine, take a seat." He gestures to the seat opposite him. I sit down and dig through my bag for the file that I'd brought. "I've told you to call me Bill about a hundred times now. You make me feel so old."

I just grin and fish out the file.

"You don't come around much anymore," He remarks as he accepts the file.

"I have five months here, and I have dreams about the chocolate soufflé. Believe me, I'll be here so often, you'll be itching to have me kicked out."

He chuckles. "From what I hear, you've been the one doing the kicking out. It's only been three weeks and you already have Phil and Renée running for the hills."

I laugh and shrug. "What can I say? I like my space."

There's a knock on the door and it opens to reveal a young man dressed in the required waiter's uniform. He glances at me and hesitates. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Evans, I did not know that you were in a meeting…I can come back."

"Not to worry; what is it?"

"He is here, sir."

"Ah. I'll be right out." Mr. Evans gets out of his chair and it groans slightly in relief. "As much as I love your company, I'm afraid that we'll have to talk some other time, Bella. Work calls, you know."

"Of course, I'm sorry if I disturbed you." I get up.

He waves off my apology places a hand on my back to escort me out. "No, not at all, you're not a disturbance. I just need to stretch these legs out. Besides, we have a VIP coming in, and I'd like to greet him personally."

"Oh, wow. Anyone I would know?"

"Well, it's not Tom Cruise." I pretend to scowl at him as he grins teasingly at me. "Actually, why don't you come along, I'll introduce you. You can be Phil's proxy."

"I'll try not to lose your business."

I follow Mr. Evans through the entry corridor where diners can appreciate the fabulous art on either sides of the wall before sitting down for dinner. I've always liked this particular part of the restaurant; it feels like being inside of a museum.

"Mr. Cullen, it's an absolute pleasure to meet you. I'm James Evans, I'm the manager here. We've been so looking forward…"

Everything Mr. Evans says after that becomes background noise.

He could be reading out the Miranda rights, and I wouldn't notice. And it's all because over his plump shoulder, I see a shade of emerald green that I thought I would never see again.

 **A/N: Hope you enjoyed that! This will be the last chapter before a small break in posting – don't worry, it won't be too long. A sincere 'thank-you' to everyone who's reviewed, everyone who's recommended this story – you guys are the real MVPs. Please let me know what you think about this chapter, this story so far, etc., and I'll see you soon!**


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